The Dictator (Banker 2)

“What?” she whispered.

“A truce. I won’t come after them unless they provoke me.”

“Oh…” Her eyes tilted down as the words soaked in. “You’re sure it’s him?”

“I identified him myself. Don’t worry about that.” He’d just begun to rot, and the smell was disgusting. But thankfully, his face had been mostly intact so I could verify his identity. The rest of his body was pretty much destroyed. He had a death so cruel I would never speak of it to her.

Thank god she didn’t ask. “Thank you, Cato. Again, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to show my gratitude.”

“Your words are enough.” My brother’s accusations were right. I did bend over backward to do this for her. For a man who didn’t care about anything, I sure cared about her. My respect for her still burned bright like a fire in the hearth. Despite what she did to me, she deserved a certain amount of dignity.

“And you brought Landon too…”

“I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“You’re a good man, Cato. Even if you still kill me, my opinion won’t change.”

That would only make killing her more difficult. Listening to her hate me would make it a lot easier to shut her up.

“That was a sweet thing to do. I still can’t believe it happened.”

“You did everything to save your father. You failed, but you still deserved to bury him. It’ll give you closure.”

“Yes…it will.” She faced forward again.

I stared at the side of her face, examining the subtle beauty of her high cheekbones. Her freckles gave her a hint of girlish charm against the rest of her distinctly womanly appearance. Her lips were plump like pillows, and her slender neck was as long as her legs. If she gave me a daughter, I knew I would have a serious problem on my hands. “I shot Damien for you.”

She turned back to me, her eyebrows furrowed. “You shot him?”

“In the left shoulder. But he’ll live.”

The sadness left her eyes for a moment, replaced with heated vengeance. “Thank you. I just wish you’d aimed for his head.”

I smiled, liking the fire that roared out of her mouth. “Next time.”

Two weeks had come and gone.

I hadn’t gotten laid.

For a man who got sex on a regular basis, two weeks was equivalent to two months.

I considered going out and picking up pussy. But my mind always wandered back to the mother of my child, the woman I’d fucked more than anyone else. She was already pregnant, so I never had to worry about knocking her up again. I didn’t need a condom, but I would need to wear one with someone else.

But I was still pissed at her.

I could do whatever I wanted with her. I could force her even if she said no. I could chain her up and turn it into a punishment. The idea was arousing.

But I was too stubborn to do it.

After what she did, I should never want her again.

I was sitting on the couch in the private living room of my master bedroom when there was a knock on the door. Giovanni had already served me dinner, so I knew it wasn’t him. He wouldn’t bother me at this hour unless it was important. I could see the bedroom door from the living room, so I called out, “Come in.”

Siena walked inside, dressed in pajama shorts and a white tank top without a bra.

My eyes immediately went to her nipples.

Her hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail and her face was clean of makeup, but I started to realize I actually preferred her that way.

“Can I talk to you?” She stayed by the door, her long legs tanned and toned.

All I could focus on was those legs in those shorts, those tits in that shirt, and that gorgeous neck I used to grab. “Yes.”

She shut the door then joined me in the living room. She moved to the couch beside me and watched the soccer game on the screen. “Sports fan?”

“Yes.”

She looked at my glass of scotch on the table like she wanted to take a drink. Of course she couldn’t, so she sat back and turned her gaze on me.

I tried not to stare at her legs in those little shorts. I tried not to look at her tits in that thin cotton shirt. Even though she genuinely looked ready for bed, she’d never looked sexier. She could have walked in here in lingerie, and my reaction would have been the same. Maybe she was intentionally antagonizing me under the false pretense of going to sleep. “Something you need?”

She looked at my shirtless chest, not bothering to hide her need for affection. Maybe she’d tried to fuck me last week to screw with my head. Or maybe she just missed sex as much as I did. “I wanted to ask you something.”